Liutofaga: Introduction

A few weeks ago I dreamt of my family - it felt so real. 

I'm walking up the driveway of my aunty's home holding a foil covered tray and I see the double doors to the garage are wide open. I walk through, wave hello and kisi people while I make my way to the back of the house.

I see my loved ones everywhere.

Oldies sitting on chairs deep in talanoaga, cousins bustling about doing feaus and parents chasing kids as they run weaving themselves through the maze of loved elders.

I hear my loved ones everywhere.

Witty banter bouncing back and forth in Samoan/english, random bursts of hyena laughter, music blaring and the crackle of meat as it roasts on the barbecue.

I feel my loved ones everywhere.

We work together in synced harmony. We set the table, arrange the seating and neatly place the foil covered trays containing food in the middle of the table setting. Loku is said then in unison we say Amene. 

I reach over and uncover the tray in front of me. I see a human spinal bone and everything goes still. 

My hands cover my eyes as I bow my head and weep while memories of loved ones waiting in the heavens fill my mind. I wake up crying unable to go back to sleep.

My dad's family practise liutofaga, at every family reunion held in Samoa groups of family members visit the ancestral tomb. As a child I remember some of my cousins returning from Samoa with stories of how they went to the tomb and cleaned the bones of our ancestors with fagu'u. 

I laughed and accused them of lying. Family tomb!? yeah right! I ran to dad so he could back me up and prove them wrong. I repeated the story, he nodded in agreement and said:

"E sa'o. The bones of the matai's in our aiga are placed in the family tomb. We clean the bones with coconut oil to remember them"

Bear with me as I open the tomb of memories and wipe the dust from the spinal bones of life lessons passed down from some of the women in my family. No tomb can hold or book fully detail the legacy of their resilience and love.

The plan is to release a series of blog posts as an attempt to write how they changed and blessed my life with love. In her poem titled "Women of Colour" Rupi Kaur wrote our backs tell stories no books have the spine to carry. 

To my loved ones waiting in the heavens, this is your liutofaga.

Fa'afetai mo lou alofa

In Time

Afio ane loa le auga fa’apae

Se’i sausaunoa la’ei Samoa

Amata ususu o le ‘aiuli alu ma le atoa

 

Sulu i le malo ma malu ai le tuiga,

Salani i le u’u ua ova le ‘i’ila

Maualuga ai o le ta aso ua sili le mataina

 

Fai mamalu le faiva

E sili i le silasila

Tau lau agava’a

I si ou sa’asa’a

 

E le mavae le mamalu nai ou la’ei

E sili atu lava i ona po nei

La’ei Samoa e mamalu ai lava lou sausaunoa

 

Fia ‘olo ane le fua ma le pa’o

Fai fai malie o le pati ma le po

Se’i fa’asolo faiva ua saunia mo lenei aso

 

Soa lautele lava le fa’atafiti

Taualuga le so’ona tafitifiti

E ute o fiafiaga Fa’aSamoa moni lava ua sili

 

Fai mamalu le faiva

E sili i le silasila

Tau lau agava’a

I si ou sa’asa’a

"Afio Ane Loa" - Tree Vaifale

I have been contemplating whether to get back into writing/blogging again. I have so many half-written pieces gathering dust in my drafts from the past few years since I last pressed publish, I left them unfinished because I didn't feel ready. But the past few weeks thoughts, conversations and answers to prayers have led me back here.

I feel the aualuma of women in my family, both in heaven and on earth.

I hear their whispered prayers fofo the fagu'u of reassurance into my skin.

I feel their warming presence la'ei my soul with their hand sewn resilience.

I hear the claps of fa'ataupati and their joyous cheers of fa'aumu usher confidence into my being.

I feel their love gather around me.

They cry for me to hear them. To live, to exist, to be. 

Taofia Pelesasa said "Remember that generations of our people fought for you to exist today. Use the life they fought for"

So I'm putting it out into the universe:

I want the generations of women before me to know that their uttered prayers have been heard, received, felt and lived. I want to have one of the untold stories buried in our hearts published.

They inspire my fingers to write so people know about us - about me, about them.

Happy Days

Sila